


Jeyne and Bael Are Burned

by WendyNerd



Series: Jeyne and Bael [3]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Jeyne and Bael, Multi-chapter sequel, Multiple POV's, Scheming, Unbeta'd
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-29
Updated: 2017-01-29
Packaged: 2018-09-20 13:39:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9493919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WendyNerd/pseuds/WendyNerd
Summary: Third part of the "Jeyne and Bael" Series. Captured and "hosted" by the ambitious Illyrio Mopatis, the Starks must find a way to liberate themselves and return home on their own terms.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Here it is, the sequel to Jeyne and Bael and Jeyne and Bael are Dead!

Sansa:

The two of them lie back, enjoying the gentle rocking of their boat as the waves move against it. They’ve rowed out far enough that the stars are more visible, bright enough to make the dark waters sparkle. 

Jon’s fingers are in her hair, stroking it as she rests her head on his chest. She’s almost forgotten how much she misses that. The first night they shared a bed in their cabin, she’d woken to him running his thumb along a lock, still sleeping. She hadn’t stopped him. It became his habit. He’d find her hair and stroke it in his sleep. He even sometimes did it when they were awake and merely close to one another, though he rarely realized he was doing it.

It’s contact that made sleeping easier for both of them, really. 

Despite the sumptuous feather beds Illyrio has provided them, sleeping isn’t as easy now. Their host figured out there was something between them, immediately, but he didn’t know how far it had already gone. He knew that Jon wanted her, but his advice to his “king” that Jon “if you wish to have her, you can, you don’t have to marry her” made it clear he wasn’t completely aware of their relationship. They both thought it best to keep it that way.

Unfortunately, this required them to take to separate beds during the entirety of their journey to Pentos, and do the same with Illyrio’s walls. With his staff everywhere, it was difficult for them to find time alone at all.

Absurd measures had to be taken. And, at first, there was a little fun to it, especially during their first week or so in Illyrio’s manse---- stolen kisses in the dead ends of his hedge maze, hurried lovemaking inside broom closets, whispered conversations under the cover of music or a distracted crowd. And things like this: Jon climbing up into her private balcony, waking her, and sneaking her to Illyrio’s private docks to highjack one of his gondolas.

Sleeping alone got old quickly.

It was even worse since, aside from their romantic needs, they had so much to discuss. So many things not meant for the ears of Illyrio or his spies. Their future, Arya, their thoughts and feelings on their current situation, feelings about Illyrio, plans to free themselves, Jon’s new identity, and even simply their personal feelings. 

It was like being back in King’s Landing, minus the beatings, plus unquenched passion and luxury.

But moments like now, she can close her eyes and pretend they’re back in Braavos, Jeyne and Bael once more.

She only allows herself a moment to do so. Whatever time they manage to get alone can’t be wasted. 

“Has Illyrio received any response from Daenerys yet?” She asks. Illyrio liked to have plenty of private counseling sessions with his king to go over his plots and “train” Jon on how to achieve them. Illyrio was determined to see Jon married to his Aunt Daenerys and on the Iron Throne with her. It was Illyrio who had arranged Daenerys’s marriage to Khal Drogo and gifted her with her dragon eggs. But before long, his pawn escaped his grasp entirely and begin building her own, new empire. Liberating the slaves of Slaver’s Bay and conquering the cities, uniting all the Dothraki nations under her rule. 

It was clear Illyrio had always intended to be the power behind Daenerys absolutely and mastermind an invasion of Westeros on the grounds of a Targaryen restoration. But the young queen has sought out and built power on her own, free of Illyrio’s influence.

Enter Jon, another, long-lost Targaryen. One whose claim to the throne that Daenerys has been determined to take for years rivals her own. Who is of the line which comes before her in the succession. Who is male. Who was born and raised in Westeros. Whose cousins are Starks of the North with blood ties to Houses Tully and Arryn as well, giving him political connections with over half of Westeros. 

Either a threat and rival Illyrio can wield against the Mother of Dragons, or an invaluable asset he can give her, and re-assert control through. Either way, Jon brings Illyrio back onto the playing field where Westeros is concerned.

And, as a bonus, he comes with the only two Starks left not thought to be dead. 

Cultivating Jon and his Stark-Tully-Arryn cousins is a power play. And one that Illyrio is not ready to botch. And that means not letting any of them slip from his grasp like Daenerys.

“He says he hasn’t,” Jon replies, eyes on the crescent moon above them. “If that counts for anything. The news I’ve heard is that she’s returned to Meereen and settled the cities. The only new thing is that apparently, she’s acquired a new navy and intends to sail for Westeros at last.”

At this, Sansa sits up, alarmed. “How? I thought the Meereenese fleet was burned.”

“It was. But she got a new one. Perhaps the Dothraki?”

“Dothraki don’t have ships. They think the sea is evil.”

“Then she must have gained a new ally.”

“We’ll have to try and find out who. But whoever it is, that means there’s not much time. If she’s truly, finally ready to sail, then Illyrio is going to want to settle your match to her immediately.”

“I’m not so sure of that. I think he may wish to actually sail me to Westeros and gather an army behind me. So that I show up at Daenerys’s door with a section of Westeros at my side.”

“But if she manages to conquer the Seven Kingdoms before he can do that, then your value will plummet. She’ll already have the Iron Throne without you, by right of conquest. It’ll be too late to convince her to be your bride and share the throne.”

Jon sighs. “That’s a good point. Seven Hells. He’s going to be carting me off to Meereen before I know it. Gods, what’s going to happen to you?”

Sansa swallows. “I think he’ll have me accompany you, but keep Arya here.”

Jon sits up as well and brings his knees to his chest. “Right. To show off the connections I come with and keep leverage over me. Bring you since people are sure you’re alive and consider you heir to Winterfell. Plus you’ve got the Tully look, everyone knows it, and you’ve actually been to the Vale. So I arrive at Daenerys’s doorstep with the key to half of Westeros by my side. Meanwhile, Illyrio keeps Arya to ensure our good behavior.”

“Not to mention, there’s Tyrion. He’s seen me recently enough to recognize and identify me. He barely saw Arya at all, and that was when she was just a child. But Tyrion knows my face, my voice. We share some memories. Arya they can claim is an imposter. Not so for me. And with a certified, true Stark with you---”

“It makes my identity and value all the more credible.” Jon groans. “Damn, and we just got her back.”

Sansa bows her head. “Do you think Illyrio will propose that I’m still Tyrion’s wife? Perhaps as an incentive for him to council Daenerys to accept you?”

Jon winces. “It couldn’t really work, though. You’re Lady of Winterfell. And here’s no way you can hold the North for us if you’re seen as a Lannister.”

“Perhaps he means for me to be Lady Lannister and install Arya at Winterfell instead. He has two Starks, after all. Might as well get the most use out of both of them,” Sansa replies bitterly.

Jon pulls her into his arms. “I won’t let him.”

“If he holds Arya hostage, you won’t have a choice.”

“Then we’ll find a way to fix that. Arya escaped King’s Landing. She escaped Harrenhal. She escaped the Faceless Men. Or we’ll all leave before he separates us.”

“Where would we even go, Jon?”

He pulls back and looks into her eyes, smiling. “Home.”

Her heart pounds. “We can’t go home. You know that.”

“We can if we do it on the backs of dragons.”

She swallows. “I doubt Daenerys will let you go back to Winterfell with us.”

“What do you mean?”

“She’ll want her husband in King’s Landing with her, obviously.”

Jon’s face falls. “No,Sweetling, you misunderstand. That’s the beauty of it, you see. I won’t marry Daenerys. I’ll come to her as her nephew, sure. And I’ll swear my allegiance to her. She’ll have the support of the only other Targaryen, won’t have to share the throne, and still gain my connections. And, on top of that, she’ll go to Westeros---”

“---With an heir presumptive.” Sansa’s eyes grow huge. “Jon, we could marry and go back to Winterfell!”

Jon hesitates for a moment. “But that might put Winterfell under her direct power. House Stark would end.”

"No, Jon, it won’t. We just need a make matrilineal match!” For the first time since Braavos, Sansa’s mind begins exploding with ideas.

“Come again?”

Sansa grins. “In most marriages, the woman becomes a member of the husband’s House, and all her property becomes his.”

“Yes.”

“But there is a method for sustaining Houses without male heirs. Mother told me about it once. There have been multiple times through history where a lord didn’t have any sons, and the seat was inherited by a daughter. To preserve the House, though, the ruling lady would make a matrilineal match to a nobleman without a title of his own. In these marriages, the husband would join their wives’ household and take the consort role. Their children would be born as members of their mother’s House, with their mother’s name, as their mother’s heirs.” She grins.  “It’s legal. And it would benefit everyone.”

“But Ramsay and Tyrion---”

“Those were not designated as matrilineal. There was no one around to fight for the preservation of the Stark name.”

“And you think Daenerys would permit this?”

“Think about it. It would keep you in the North, well away from the Iron Throne. It would diminish your eligibility as a rival Targaryen heir if you became Lord Stark. It would further cement support for Daenerys in the North. It would officially give House Targaryen blood ties to House Arryn and House Tully as well. All three Houses which, by the way, were the ones who deposed her family originally. Now inviolably tied to her family. Married to me, she’s free to wed another and establish yet another alliance. Also, widen the pool of her potential successors, which are scarce. She will have a niece with influence over her former enemies, her only rival tucked away in the North. She’d reap all the benefits and dispose of all the downsides of your existence.”

Jon hesitates. “I only worry that she won’t see it that way. No offense, Sweetling, but you and House Stark are in exile and House Tully is deposed as well.”

“She’s also in exile, and already fully intends to destroy the very same enemies who put the Freys and Boltons in power in the first place. Restoring us will wipe out the unwanted tyrants and bring back the proper rulers. It will only compel the people of the North and Riverlands to follow her more if she were to put me back in Winterfell and Uncle Edmure back in Riverrun. She’ll be a savior to the people who have been brutalized by our enemies, and she’ll have destroyed most of House Lannister’s allies. Her army, popularity, and power in Westeros swells, the people sitting on her throne lose half their domains. She already intends to go to war against these people. We’d just make it easier.”

Jon stares. Then he smiles. “So, I’m to be Lady of Winterfell, then?”

Sansa giggles. “I believe the title is ‘Lord Consort’, actually. And I wouldn’t assign you the same duties as, say, my mother.  Though I may let you oversee the household.”

“And our children shall be Starks.”

“Unless Daenerys dies without issue. Then one of them will take the name ‘Targaryen’ as well when they inherit the throne. But otherwise, yes.”

Jon sits back for a moment and muses. “We get Daenerys to establish her first foothold in the North… That would make it easier to get her to address the White Walkers, as well.”

“That as well.”

“Arriving with House Stark and placing a woman in power would also set a favorable precedent for her as well,” her lover responds, stroking his beard, “Not bad optics.”

“Not at all.”

“So we go to Daenerys and offer her our support and possible heir if she restores you and your uncle to your seats and agrees to a--- what did you call it?”

“Matrilineal.”

“---Matrilineal betrothal, between us. We all arrive in the North with Daenerys’s dragons, ships, and army, promising to save the North from the Boltons and order to Westeros. The lords of the North unite under you and Daenerys. We retake the North from the Boltons, Ramsay dies, you are a widow, and we marry in the godswood at Winterfell, with me becoming your consort. We show Daenerys the truth about the White Walkers and engage your cousin Robert in an alliance, securing the Vale to Daenerys’s cause. Then some of us march to the Wall, while the others head to the Riverlands, rescue your Uncle, and destroy the Freys. Daenerys has more than half of Westeros by this point, and her control stretches right to the Lannister borders. The new queen, with three dragons, a highly-connected heir presumptive, the rightful Lord of Casterly Rock by her side,  and an established reputation of freeing the people from tyranny, marches on King’s Landing and takes the Iron Throne, then sends the rest of her army to the Wall to help the forces there. The united forces of the Seven Realms and three dragons fight and destroy the White Walkers. Dany further cements her position by cementing yet another alliance through marriage. We spend the rest of our days back home, making little Starks.”

“Yes.”

Jon smiles. “That could work.”

“And you wouldn’t mind?” Sansa asks. “Not being a… traditional husband?”

“Not of it means being your husband.” He leans forward and kisses her deep.

“I’d share--” she says when their lips part for air. He kisses her again. “---You’d rule---” Kiss. “---Alongside me.”

He chuckles and presses his brow to hers. “If you insist, my lady. I do have one question though.”

“What?”

“Will  _ I  _ have to wear the maiden’s cloak?”

She laughs and kisses him again. “Only if you wish to. Maybe if you ask really nicely, I’ll make it for you.”

“Oh, please do. I want to be the prettiest groom there ever was.”

She grips the hair at the back of his head and grins. “You won’t need a cloak for that.”

They join lips and caress one another, until an unwelcome thought occurs to her. 

“Wait, Jon!”

He groans. “What?”

“We don’t have much time, and some things must be settled!”

He sighs and leans back. “What?”

“Escape from here. If we’re going to do this, we have to escape, especially Arya.”

He looks devastated, but nonetheless nods and withdraws entirely. “It possible we could just let Illyria deliver us to Meereen and then simply present our idea to the queen, if we made sure Arya got away from Illyria after we left.”

“Precisely. And if that’s going to work, we’ll need to convince Illyrio that he’s won.”

Jon’s face falls. “I don’t want to pretend we’ve parted.”

Sansa reaches out and cups his cheek. “As far as he knows, we’re not actually together, remember?”

His eyes flicker. “I… What if we did the opposite?”

She cocks her head. “What do you mean?”

Jon groans. “No… We can’t. I won’t insult you.”

Sansa actually laughs at this. “You won’t, Jon. Just tell me.”

“Illyrio… He’s been wondering about us. He knows how I feel about you, of course. And he believes you stand in the way of me marrying Daenerys. At one point, he’s… Well, he’s proposed something thoroughly dishonorable, I would never---”

“---Tell me, Jon, or I shall be insulted. I don’t like you keeping secrets from me.”

“...He said that I don’t need to marry you to have you. That I could seduce you and keep you as my concubine, instead.” It’s hard to tell in the silver moonlight, but Sansa can tell he’s blushing profusely. “He’s awful. I’m sorry. I only mention it because I… I fear he may see you as enough of a threat to his plans that he may harm you. I’m so sorry, Sansa, you know I’d never---”

But he stops speaking when she throws her head back and laughs. His eyes are wide with amazement.

“I fail to see what is so funny.”

“What’s so funny is that he’s right!” She says, grinning. “For pity’s sake, Jon, you’ve already had me. I  _ am  _ your concubine! Or mistress, or paramour. Whatever word you wish. And you’re mine. Let’s call it what it is. There’s no need to dance around it!”

Jon cups his brow. “When we first… We’d been living as man and wife for months. It was different. And even though by then we were planning to leave Jeyne and Bael, I decided we’d continue to live as married from then on, no matter where we went. I’d been thinking of you as my wife, living with you as my wife, planning for us as husband and wife. This… This is…”

“We’ve coupled since returning to Sansa and Jon. And we’re certainly not living as husband and wife now.”

“Yes, but… With us as cousins, there’s a chance we can truly wed, as ourselves. And I assumed that we’d find a way to do it eventually---”

“---We have---”

“Yes, but not with making you my… Mistress. I don’t want your reputation sullied, Sansa.”

“I was married off to Tyrion Lannister and Ramsay Bolton and convicted of regicide. My reputation is already sullied. Besides, I hardly care what people think. If we’re able to return home, take it back, and save our people, none of it will matter.” She cups his face in both hands now, looking deep into his eyes. “Jon, I know you. I could never feel dishonored by what we do together.”

“You’re a lady, and--”

“Right, I’m a Lady Wife. And my life as a properly wed lady wife has brought me no honor or happiness. I feel more honored and dignified being your mistress than I ever have as a wife. Indeed…” She smiles. “I think we may have some fun with this.”

Jon’s brows furrow. “What are you planning?”

 

~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~

 

It’s an uncharacteristically overcast day, as Sansa notes when her host enters her solar. 

“It’s a pity,” she says, curtseying to the Magisters as he lurches into her chambers, breathing heavy, “That it looks like it could rain at any moment. I so would have liked to have eaten with you on the balcony. You’ve arrange such lovely accommodations for me, and the view is so delightful. I really cannot thank you enough for your generosity, Magister Illyrio.”

Illyrio smiles. “Oh, dining with you already comes with the loveliest view imaginable, Lady Stark, I just wish I could provide the same for you.”

Sansa hurries to him to help him into his seat at the marble tea table, where their breakfast is set. Venison sausages sauteed in onions and Tyroshi spices, eggs cooked in the local style (poached, atop dry, white bread and bacon, topped with a buttery egg sauce and thyme), sun-dried tomatoes, asparagus in lemon, and a peach nectar nectar mixed with Arbor Gold. Tea and coffee are also served. All of it on gold-plate or gold-rimmed, ornate china. 

“On the contrary, Lord Magister, when I look at you,” she says, taking her seat across from him, “I see the man who has rescued us, given us a beautiful home, revealed to my cousin his true destiny, and has been showering all of us with generosity and good counsel. Your virtues shine through. That is far greater beauty than one finds in most men these days.”

“You’re a charming girl,” Illyrio says as he lifts his glittering cup of peach nectar and leers at her. 

Sansa has taken care with her dressing today, using Illyrio’s generosity to its full advantage. Her gown is the color of a summer sky, made of silk so fine it moves like water. It clings to her every curve, and the neckline dips low. Around her neck is a teardrop sapphire and diamond pendant on a white-gold chain, hanging just low enough to dangle at the space between her breasts. Her hair is pinned away from her face with matching ornaments, but falls loose otherwise, enough for part of it to drop becomingly over her right shoulder and the rest down her back in soft, luxurious waves.

She smiles and makes herself blush. “I am pleased you think so, it is kind of you to say.”

“Not kind, an understatement. I think you are well aware of the extent of your charms, Lady Sansa. And how to use them. Tell me, what is it that I can do for you?”

It’s a charming way to say, “Get to your point. I know you want something.”

“It’s not just what I can do for you, Magister Illyrio, it’s what we can do for one another. I know you’ve been having some struggles with Jon. You wouldn’t guess it at first, given how gentle and soft-spoken he can be, but he’s stubborn, especially about his principles. It goes back to being raised as a bastard, you see. He’s always been determined to gain his honor. And he’s always seen… certain behaviors, such as, say, ambition, as being in violation of that.” She sighs and begins cutting up her food. The yolk of her poached eggs burst out and mix with the sauce. “Not to mention, your revelation… It’s a great deal to process.”

“Indeed. I only wish I could aid him more in making him see---”

“---You can’t, Magister Illyrio, I think we both know this. Jon doesn’t trust or like you, I’m afraid. He’s suspicious of pretty much everyone, especially unfamiliar, rich men who make him grandiose promises that come with orders. He believes you want to use him. And, let’s be perfectly frank here,” she pauses to ingest a small bite of egg, wash it down in her (wine-free) nectar, and wipe her mouth, “He’s right, for the most part. Jon may have spent years at The Wall, but he knows enough from my experiences about how heirs to lofty titles are seen and treated. You’re never going to get him to accept you as his ally alone.”

“I take it you’re offering me a solution to this.”

“You want him to marry and seize the Iron Throne with Daenerys, correct? And Jon’s resistance to this has spoken of reasons beyond mistrusting you. And if you’re going to overcome all of this, you’re going to have to accept a few things. One, that Jon truly has never, and will never, possess the lust for power, particularly the Iron Throne, that most men would. His ego lies more in ideas about honor, duty, and personal character than power or wealth. Two, that he truly loves me. And three, that I’m not stupid.”

“If I’m understanding your words correctly, Jon hasn’t confessed his feelings to you, but that you don’t need him to.”

“Precisely. Another thing you need to know is that I truly love Jon. Unlike my cousin, I’m not opposed to ambition. It’s just that, as a woman, my goals are a bit more complicated than the average man’s. I have things I want, among them, him. For love, for security, and for political reasons. The good news for you is that I don’t consider marriage a requirement for getting what I want, and I believe my ambitions can and should work well with your own.”

Illyrio is quick to swallow his mouthful of egg and sausage so he may reply. “Are you proposing a partnership, Lady Stark?”

“I am indeed, Lord Illyrio. Tell me, have you openly discussed Jon’s feelings for me with him?”

“I have broached the topic, yes. He does not respond well, though.”

“Well, I imagine not. You want him to marry Daenerys. That he has told me. And his love for me stands in the way. But what if I were to give myself to him without the precondition of marriage?”

Illyrio smiles. “Well, I’m glad you’re capable of being rational about such a possibility. Your cousin reacted to that very suggestion with rage.”

“Of course he did. I am willing to believe you made a mess of it, too. Not that you can really help it.”

“So you’re willing to convince him that he can have you and marry Daenerys. And in exchange---?”

“I want a few things. I want you to restore Houses Stark  _ and  _ Tully to their rightful places, along with House Targaryen. I want my current husband and his entire family wiped out and all their properties in my hands. I want assurance that my first marriage is dissolved in every way. I want my place as ruler of the North ensured. I want you to be honest and fair with me. I also want you to use whatever resource you have at your disposal to get Daenerys Targaryen to accept me as her husband’s mistress, and, if possible, his second wife.”

“You want me to do all of that? That, especially that last part, may prove impossible, not to mention, that is much to ask in exchange for---”

“---I wouldn’t just be willing to convince Jon to wed Daenerys, you know. It’s not simply the two of us who get in the way of his enthusiasm for your plans, My Lord. Jon doesn’t want to go South, he wants to go home, and to him, that’s Winterfell. He loathes the capital’s scheming and machinations, and the idea of living among it. The idea of taking or even threatening the birthright of another fills him with guilt. And, quite frankly, I think the idea of his new identity, and all it could mean, disturbs him. I can help with all of that and more. You need someone he trusts in his corner. I’m one of those two people.”

Illyrio sits back, folding his soft, white hands atop his bulbous belly. “You are correct, My Lady. There’s not much time. I need someone who can bring Jon around quickly. But are you sure you can do all of this for me?”

“Oh, certainly.”

“Can I be certain you  _ will  _ do all this for me?” His eyes glint. “I get the feeling you don’t care for me much, either.”

“I don’t. But I do like your plans for my cousin. And I have nothing to lose and everything to gain from working with you. The opposite is true of working against you, I think.”

“You think right. And I suggest you keep that in mind.” Illyrio sighs. “Very well, then, Lady Sansa.”

“Oh, and there are a few more conditions.”

"What?”

“I will give you my blessing to keep Arya here for collateral while Jon and I are off to parlay with the Dragon Queen. But no threats or harm towards the few loved ones I have left.”

Illyrio hesitates. “Lady Sansa, with all due respect, you’re not the only Stark I fear coming between myself and my plans. Jon may not be in love with your sister, but he does adore her.”

“I intend to handle Arya for you, as well, Illyrio. I thought that was implied.”

“And you think you can control Lady Arya as well as you control the king?”

“Of course. She merely requires a different approach. I assure you, Magister, there shall be no moment where you will feel compelled to betray me. Not if both of us keep our promises. But keep in mind, to work, I will need to be able to work without being observed. All three of us are aware of how we are watched, and if they pick up on it, there’s no way I can effectively do my job. I don’t think I need to tell you that this arrangement between us must remain confidential?”

“Not at all.”

“Good, then I must be able to truly be alone with my family. Normally, I wouldn’t mind. And I understand why you’d want my interactions with Jon and Arya observed. But Jon’s time at the Wall included both espionage and ranging. Arya spent years evading capture from every lord in Westeros, has received training from the Faceless Men, and has escaped from enemy prisons, including Harrenhal. I spent years being spied on in King’s Landing, and escaped Winterfell. All of us know when we’re being watched. And we know each other to be capable of the same. Any spies you try to send after us will be caught. And they’ll grow suspicious of me eventually if that happens. I can’t do anything for you if they aren’t capable of being truly alone with me. And we’ll all know if we’re not. If you do end up sending people to try and spy on us, I promise you, those spies shall be discovered, and either banished, or tricked. Your people will get nothing. All it would accomplish is wasting time and stalling our work.”

Illyrio’s eyes narrow. “You realize why I might find that suspicious?”

“Of course. Go ahead and do it anyways, though. If you feel we have enough time to risk it, you can try. All you’ll hear from your people are accounts of the normal, boring conversations you’ve heard about a thousand times already. Am I correct in assuming that your staff have yet to overhear anything compromising or interesting?”

Illyrio’s eyes grow nervous. “No,” he confesses, with resentment.

“Even from those who have assured you that none of us had ‘any idea’ they were there?”

“Correct.”

“There’s a reason for that. There’s a reason that we’re the Starks who have survived, My Lord. The only spy that’ll do you any good is me. But that’ll only happen if I’m the only spy you use.”

“I’d remind you that I  _ did  _ find you and Jon in Braavos.”

“ _I’d_ remind _you_ that it was only circumstances that you never foresaw that kept us from escaping anyways,” Sansa replies primly. “If Arya--- who you had no idea about--- hadn’t stolen Longclaw back from us, we’d have slipped through your fingers before you even knew we were gone. You know that we were all packed up and ready to leave Braavos when you first announced yourself. The only reason we are here is because you got lucky. And you haven’t made any progress since we got here.”

“I warn you, Lady Sansa, do not think I can be trifled with.”

“If I thought that, we wouldn’t be having this conversation. You honestly think I’d be here if I thought myself capable of fooling you?”

“I’m not sure, actually.”

“There’d have already been escape attempts if I did. I don’t want to work with you, Magister Illyrio. I’d choose any other option if there was a chance it could work. And trust me, I’ve tried to come up with alternatives. That’s why it’s taken me so long to approach you. But this is the only way, and I have reluctantly accepted that. I can’t fool you. The best I can do is negotiate with you.”

“Good.”

“And another thing, my lord.”

“What?”

“Don’t try to get me into your bed. If I had any intention of allowing such a thing, I’d have offered by now. Don’t think it hasn’t occurred to me that it might be an incentive. But I shall not. Do we understand each other?”

“I think we do, My Lady,” Illyrio replies, “I think we do.”

“Very good. Now, there is one, small thing I need you to do when you meet with my cousin today. Simply ask him if I know of his feelings. When he says no, suggest that he’s holding a torch for a woman who might not even have him. Remind him that he was my half-brother. That if he’s going to persist in this, then I deserve to know. Do this, and I promise, within a day, he’ll start showing more interest in Daenerys.”

“That quickly?”

“As long as you don’t have us watched. I know how to convince him. I’ll even explain it to you once it’s done. But if there are eyes upon us when this happens, I can’t. Even if we do get to speak, I can’t possibly couple with him while another watches.” Sansa shudders. “You see, my current husband forced my father’s ward to watch when he raped me the first time. I can’t relive that. If that happens, then I shall be crippled. And you’ll get nothing. Give me this chance, and tomorrow morning, he’ll be coming to your study asking you more about Daenerys and offering to consider being her husband.”

“So, you intend to convince him simply by seducing him?”

“Gods, no, not simply. Nothing is simple with Jon. But seducing him shall be integral to my process. Like I said, I’d be happy to divulge the rest of it once the job is done.”

“Very well. I’ll allow you both to escape from the eyes of my staff after my conference with Jon today. But if I do all you’ve asked and don’t get the results in the time you’ve promised me---”

“Then you will engineer our next step.” She says this with the confidence she feels, communicating her (correct) certainty that it will not come to that.

“Alright then. Prove yourself, Sansa Stark.” He struggles to his feet, almost knocking over the table and successfully knocking over his chair in the process. “Now, excuse me, I have to meet with your cousin.”

“I’ll be waiting for him to return.”

 

~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~

 

It’s with slippery bliss that Sansa rides her lover, her head thrown back and back arched, his mouth on her nipple. He sucks and nibbles at it furiously as the two of them move their hips beneath the surface of Illyrio’s fishing pond. When her peak hits her, she yanks at his hair and bites her lip.

It’s almost overwhelming, the sense of freedom combined with the carnal delight. When he releases within her, she holds him close, face buried in his neck.

They hold one another for several, quiet moments, regaining their senses. Jon rips the afterglow apart, however, when he says, “It just occurred to me. What if you conceive?”

The two of them look at each other, and Sansa becomes all-too aware of how his manhood softens while still inside her. 

Jon looks afraid. “Surely, we can’t afford such a thing at this time.”

“You’re right,” Sansa says, her stomach sinking. She’s still not completely free. “I’m sure I can get Illyrio to supply me with something, though. The last thing he’ll want is for us to have a child at the wrong time, either.”

Her lover visibly relaxes, then laughs. “I can’t believe you did it. You’re brilliant. Convincing him…”

“Just remember, he can’t know that you know that he knows. He has to believe that it’s a secret to you. That he’s the puppet master.”

“Of course. I actually think I may enjoy that.”

Sansa smiles at him. “And we have to stay vigilant, make sure he can’t spy on us. I assure you, he’ll try. Thankfully, he resisted the urge this time. But he may try it on other occasions.”

He nods. “I imagine he will.”

“The more we thwart this, the more actual privacy we’ll gain.”

Jon takes a deep breath. “I just can’t believe you found a way to arrange this for us.”

“Don’t believe it yet. There’s still the matter of Arya. Nothing comes of this if she’s not safe. Which is why you’ll need to resort to a few…” She hesitates. “Extravagances.”

“Extravagances?”

“Aye. Remember, you’re to be wracked with guilt over this, desperate to find a way to compensate for planning to marry another and making a whore of me---”

“---Don’t say---”

“---I will, Jon. I don’t mean it, but that’s how you think, as far as Illyrio must know. So, to try and offer me ‘security’, you’re going to start buying me gifts. Expensive ones. Expensive ones I can, in turn, surreptitiously leave behind for Arya so she has a source of gold to aid her escape from the manse.”

Jon’s eyes widen. “Oh.”

“If necessary, you can ‘confess’ about our affair to acquire the allowance from Illyrio. Not immediately, but soon enough. Threaten to call of the marriage to Daenerys if you can’t provide for me. Buy me plenty of baubles, things that are small and will be easy to hide and pawn. I’ll save up the gifts and stash them for Arya when we leave for Meereen so that she can buy herself a ticket to sail to Dragon’s Bay the moment she steps off the compound.”

Jon smiles. “You’re a genius.”

“We have to be careful, though. Remember, Illyrio considers me his co-conspirator. So it’s better that I hint of your generosity first. Keep in mind, I may have to give him an inventory of it all.”

“Good idea. If you like, I could offer the same, leave things out that for you to report to him, to assure him of your honesty.”

“You’re the genius here, I think.”

Then instantly, she gets a familiar sensation and looks over at the bushes by the pond. Jon mimics her action, also picking up on it. Someone was coming. Reluctantly, they pull apart and hurry to dress and flee.

 


End file.
